


Milk Tooth

by miss_nettles_wife



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: AU, Abandonment, Crying, F/M, Father/Son, Forgivness, Gen, Reconciliation, World War II, jock clement is a creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6774022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All children really want is to be with their parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Mmmmmmhmmm, oohhhh yeah, this AU is my jam ya'll. Enjoy this Blake is Charlie's Dad au. Everyone is a little ooc because hey, the AU demands it.

Charlie sat next to Lucien at breakfast, across from his grandfather. This morning, Lucien had decided to cook pancakes, since the house keeper had the day off on Sundays. Charlie had three pancakes stacked on top of one another, and was carefully pouring syrup so that it was separate. Lucien hovered nearby, reading to help the four year old fingers support the jug. Charlie managed by himself, and was ready to begin. Blake sat at his left, and smiled at the boy. 

Charlie gave him a smile back, milk teeth perfectly lined in his pink gums. “Do you need me to cut those?” He said, as Charlie took a hold of a butter knife and fork.  
“No.” Charlie replied, as he started to carefully slice his pancakes into little squares. He was very clever for a four year old, Blake thought, as he started on his own pancakes. A culmination of good genes, he liked to think. 

“Daddy?” Charlie asked, around his mouth of pancake and syrup.   
“Yes Charlie?” he asked, pausing to take a sip of his juice.   
“When you come home, will you make me pancakes every morning?” Blake laughed softly.   
“I don't know. You might get sick of them if you had them every morning.”  
“I'd never be bored of pancakes.” Charlie said, in his soft serious voice. Blake laughed, and then ruffled his hair gently, taking a moment to memorise every soft curl. “'specially not your pancakes! Your are so much better then Mamas.”  
“Is that so?”  
“Mm Hm.” Charlie said, “Even if they're a little burned.” Blake scoffed at the cheeky comment, and turned back to his breakfast.   
“I do my best.” He replied. Charlie grinned at him, and went back to eating, before stopping suddenly. Naturally, Blake's first response was to panic.   
“What's wrong?” He asked, setting down his knife and fork. Charlie opened his mouth, and stuck out his tongue, revealing to him a tooth, which he picked up with his fingers and examined.   
“Tooth.” he said, simply.   
“Yeah. Tooth.” Blake replied, taking it from him. “We'll put it under your pillow tonight, and the tooth fairy will leave you some money if you're lucky.” Charlie frowned slightly.   
“Why?”  
“She takes it, and then puts it into her tooth collection.” Charlie kept staring.   
“Why? Teeth are gross.”  
“They are. But these teeth are milk teeth. She makes them..”  
“Into fairy milk.” Thomas says, suddenly. Charlie seems less than convinced but shrugs.   
“It's yuck.” He said, “She can have it.” Blake senior laughs softly, and Blake tucks the tooth away in his pocket, not sure if Charlie actually believes them or if he's just humoring them. 

…

 

Charlie Davis likes to think that there's two of him. One that lives with his mother in Melbourne, and one that lives in Ballarat with his dad, and this train ride is what separates the two. Melbourne Charlie is a trouble maker who likes to fight with the other boys (and his step father) and never does his home work. Ballarat Charlie is a pleasant child who wants nothing more then his Father's help with homework. Though he was only young, Charlie was well aware of the divide between the two, but he also couldn't be bothered to care. 

He didn't see his dad often anymore. He'd had Charlie in his teenage years, before he left to study, and now only came back to Ballarat every couple of years or so. But Charlie didn't care too much, seeing his dad was a blessed break from his step father and half brothers, and it was somewhere where he really belonged. As the train pulled up, he was already on his feet, excited to see his da

As per usual, the train came to a halt, and Charlie pushed his way though the crowds on to the waiting platform, people passing to let the small child through. And there he was, larger then life, smiling, and holding his arms out. Charlie, being seven, was still small enough that he could be lifted into his fathers strong arms and held close. And he does. His fingers find purchase in Blake's shirt, before wrapping around his neck in a sort of Koala like grip. 

His father pressed his nose into Charlie's hair, breathing in the smell of shampoo and wax, his mother always did his hair nicely for these occasions, although Charlie doesn't understand why. His father shifts him so he is sitting on his hip rather then clinging to his front so he can say hello to Charlie's mother, who Is fiddling with her wedding ring, making sure Blake saw it. His father smiled at her.   
“Jane.” He said, letting Charlie fiddle with his tie.   
“Lucien.” She replied, and then set Charlie's tiny suitcase down at his feet. She says nothing else for several moments, not until Charlie looks up at her. “Be good.” She warns him. “If your father tells me anything about you misbehaving or fighting with the other boys then there will be trouble.” She warns, before heading to buy a ticket to go back to Melbourne. 

Blake collected his suitcase in one hand, and they began walking to where his grandfather would be waiting in his car. “Have you been fighting with the other boys?” Lucien asks, not sounding rude, or even accusatory.   
“Yeah.”  
“Why?”  
“'Cause they called me a bastard.” Lucien sighed softly and hiked Charlie up on his hip.   
“And so you got into a fight.”  
“I punched one of 'em.” That gets a little chuckle from his father as he lowered Charlie into the backseat of the car, and then put his small suitcase by his feet. Blake sat up next to him in the back, to continue to conversation. Later, Charlie would come to understand that Blake wanted to nip this behavior in the bud before it got any worse.   
“Why?”  
“'Cause he was mean.” Blake put one arm around his shoulders.   
“People are always going to be mean.” Blake replied.   
“Are they mean to you in Scots-Land?” Charlie asked, with a big pause between Scots and Land.   
“Yes. People are mean everywhere, but that doesn't mean you hit them.”   
“Imagine if I hit everyone who upset me?” His grandfather asked from the front seat. “Your father would be black and blue.” Charlie chuckled a little, and pushed his way to sitting on Blake's lap, hiding his face in the lapels of his coat.   
“Don't hit the other boys if they're mean to you. Just show then that you're better then them by not hitting. You don't need to stoop to their level.” Lucien wrapped his arms around Charlie's skinny frame and held him close for the rest of the drive home. 

…

At the end of the month, Charlie didn't want to go. He never did. On the night before he was supposed to go, Lucien was waiting on his bed to read to him like he usually did. Charlie, freshly bathed and clean smelling climbed up onto the bed he was meant to sleep in (He usually went to sleep with Blake anyway) and put his head on his dad's chest. Lucien opened the book, Anne of Green Gables, and was about to continue reading when Charlie's tiny voice spoke up. 

“Do you get lonely in Scots-Land?” His father pauses, and closes the book, but keeps his arm wrapped around the child.  
“Sometimes, why?” Blake replied, never one to really sugar coat things for the child.   
“I get real lonely when you're in Scots-Land.”   
“Don't you like spending time with your brothers and mother?”  
“No. She doesn't like me.” He replied, sounding genuinely sad.   
“Don't say that, Charlie.” Blake admonished, “She's just a bit busy right now.”   
“She doesn't want me.” Charlie repeated. “I hear her and David talk about it all the time.”  
“In front of you?” Blake asked in a soft voice.   
“No. When I'm meant to be in bed.” Blake sighs deeply.   
“Well, I want you.” He assured Charlie, tucking his chin over his small head.   
“Can't I go with you, then?”  
“To Scotland?”  
“Yeah.”   
“I'm afraid not.” Charlie grabbed his small hands into Blake's cardigan and sighed deeply.   
“But I wanna stay with you.” He mumbled.   
“I know you do.” He replied, “And I want to stay with you. I promise, when I come back from Scotland then you can stay with me all the time.”  
“Why can't I just stay here? I could live with Grandpa.”  
“As much as I think Grandpa would love having you around, he's very busy.” Charlie let out a massive sigh.   
“I'm gonna miss you when you go. A year is a real long time.”  
“I know it is. I'll take some pictures for my next letter, how about that?” Charlie nodded,   
“Yeah!” He said, picking up. His father smiled, and opened the book, prepared to read it to him.

…

On the train the following day, Blake had to admire the similarities between himself and Charlie. He always did when they said goodbye. Braided Charlie's round cheeks and small fingers into his mind, knowing he would look different next time, next year. Currently, Charlie was drawing on a little pad of paper. A goodbye gift, apparently. 

He felt bad, leaving his son in the hands of a woman who clearly didn't want him, but he didn't have a choice. He'd already been accepted into Scotland when Charlie was born. The only reason he had him at all was that he paid compensation to his mother. His father said he wouldn't help, if Lucien wanted to keep the child then he'd have to care for him himself. It hadn't taken long for Blake snr to come around to the child, it was hard not to. Charlie was sweet, polite and kind to them. 

Despite the people that said he was a terror in Melbourne, he would respectfully disagree. He dearly hoped Charlie would take on his advice and stop fighting with the other boys. He'd known Charlie's life would be difficult at times, but he hoped that when he was done studying, and he came home, or maybe he would bring Charlie over to Scotland, and that would be the end of that. He knew Charlie would be ridiculed for his choices and he was probably selfish to keep him, but he felt like he had no choice. Charlie was his flesh and blood. He meant the world to him, and he'd fight tooth and nail for the child. 

“Daddy?”  
“Yes Charlie?” He asked, smiling at the sweet little voice   
“When will you be home to stay?”  
“Soon.” He replied, not willing to give him an actual time.   
“Okay.” He said, and Blake is grateful that the young child can't process the lie. “Will we finish Anne of Green Gables next year?”  
“Yes, of course. You keep the page marked so I know where to pick up.” He smiled, as Charlie slid off his chair and then climbed up next to him, bestowing him with a gift. The gift was a drawing done on note paper of two stick figures he assumed were meant to be them. “This is you and me.” Charlie said, pointing them out with his tiny fingers. “And that is Mac.” Charlie's goldfish lived in Ballarat, he looked forward to seeing it every year. (He assumes the goldfish died yearly and his dad just replaced it before Charlie came too town.) Lucien smiled to himself, and put an arm around Charlie's shoulders. He had a photo of Charlie, several, actually, but this one seemed all the more precious. “So you don't forget about us.”  
“I won't forget about you, Charlie.” Blake promised. “I will think about you every day until I see you again.”  
“But how will I know?” He asked, in that precocious child like voice.   
“Because you'll feel it. Right here.” He said, before touching Charlie over his heart. Seemingly satisfied with this, Charlie relaxed, and settled down for the rest of the train ride. 

…

The first time Charlie met Jean Beazley was the first year she worked for Thomas Blake. She knew who Charlie was, because there were pictures of him all over the house. Tall and broadshouldered,Charlie seemed to be the perfect gentleman. Even in black and white, he had Thomas's piercing eyes, and dark curly hair similar to the man's wife. At first she'd been a little scandalized by his coming about, she realized that Thomas loved him, and if the letters in the mail each week where anything to go by, Charlie loved him. 

Charlie's arrival apparently (according to a lodger she doesn't know well) is a yearly occasion that lasts for two weeks, and if Charlie doesn't like her then she can kiss her job goodbye. She's not sure how much of that is true, she hopes not much. Thomas is a reasonable enough man and Charlie, if he takes after him at all, is probably the same. 

When he shows up, it's late in the afternoon, and he is carrying a single suitcase. His face falls slightly when she lets him in, but she gets the feeling it has little to do with her and something to do with the lack of his father. “Good afternoon. You must be Mrs Beazley.” He even sounds polite. “I'm Charlie Davis – Blake. Or Just Charlie Davis. Or Charlie Blake. Uh.” He seems to pick up that he's rambling.   
“What am I to call you, then?”She asks, smiling slightly at this odd young man.   
“Charlie Davis.” He said, decidedly. She nods her head, and lets him into the house and he looked at home. 

…

Charlie Davis's bedroom was something of a time capsule, as if it hadn't been updated since he was six. Jean suspects it probably hasn't. She dusts in here when Charlie's due in town and she always finds it fascinating, the things he's kept. 

Photos, of, she assumes, Lucien Blake. Tall enough, blonde and with a kind face, Lucien Blake didn't seem like a man who would abandon his child to go half way around the world. But Jean supposed people changed during the war time. 

The pictures were arranged on the small desk in order of frame size, but chronologically she notes Charlie as a baby sitting in Blake's lap, a very sticky toddler she assumed to be Charlie who has something, cake, she thinks, in his hair and on his face, and is laughing, A photo of Charlie sitting between the older Blake men on a couch in a formal photograph, he looked about four A photo of Lucien in front of Stonehenge, a photo of Charlie standing with the elder Blake at some kind of fete, holding a medal and grinning broadly, while Thomas had a small smile of his own that she's figured out is his equivalent of a grin, and a picture of Lucien holding Charlie on his shoulders, it's a candid, probably not taken on purpose. 

Line up along the small vanity are little metal cars, some worn, some new looking. A half used tin of hair wax belongs to a older Charlie who was just here, a rock sits on the left side of the table, kept for some reason, and a few childish drawings are displayed here. The bed is adult enough, with a stuffed bear worn looking and loved, taking up space in the center. She can't help but think Charlie's time here must have been fun. 

A half read copy of Anne of Green Gables is the only book missing from a bookshelf full of children literature, each spine cracked and well loved. She wonders why Anne didn't have a space on the shelf, but doesn't really want to think about what might have convinced Charlie not to finish reading it. 

… 

'Dear Dad- 

I heard from the embassy that you were liberated, and Grandfather has encouraged me to write to you in the hospital (I do not know if this is really where you are or just what he tells me). I do not know if you received any of the other letters I sent, I hope you did. Grandfather allowed me to keep three of your notes that you sent. I keep one on my bedside table so I can think of you before falling asleep. 

I have seen photos of what some of the Prisoners Of War look like now. I don't think I was meant to, but I did. They look like skeletons, but covered in skin. That is not a good way to put it but this is my last sheet of good paper so I will keep it in. Do you look like that? I imagine you would. I can't imagine you would let anyone suffer if you could take it for them. You probably look the worst. 

I do not know what you are meant to say to someone who was a Prisoner Of War. I am sorry, that is usually what you say when someone you love is hurt. I would also send you flowers but I don't think that they would survive the trip. I am including a picture I have drawn of a flower, I hope it helps. 

Will you be coming home when you are better? I have not heard anything from Mei Lin or Lee saying otherwise. Will they come with you? Grandfather laughed at me when I suggested it, but I think we could all fit into the house okay. I will share my room with Lee if needed. You promised when you came home that I could move to Ballarat and I am going to hold you too it. 

Mother says now that you are Liberated I should stay in Ballarat until you come home. I am going to Ballarat West now, Grandfather tells me that when you were my age you went to boarding school and he has half a mind to send me off as well. The other boys here try to fight with me, but I don't fight them back. I think you often when I try and talk, I hope you feel it. 

I pray for you every night, even though I know that God doesn't care much about most people. Father Morten told me that if I pray enough then he will listen, but I don't have time to pray all day every day ( I would if I could) so I hope once a night is enough. Christoper Beazley from Church says that I can pray as much as I want it didn't help his father and he doesn't think it will help you, but I think he's wrong. 

I have run out of room now. I hope this letter gets to you okay. I am also (at grandfather's insistance) including a photo of myself now, since all of yours will be out dated. It's my school photo from Melbourne so it is a little ugly, but I hope you like it anyway. I will have a better photo next time. 

Love  
\- Charlie Davis-Blake

…

My Dearest Charlie. 

It's wonderful to hear from you, I feared you might have forgotten about me while I was away. Thank you for the drawing of a flower, I put it up next to my bed so I can see it when I go to sleep, along with your picture. I don't think it's ugly, I actually think it's very nice. 

I didn't want anyone to show you photos of what we look like at the moment in case it upset you. But I should have known better then to expect you to not look for something you had your heart set on. Yes, I look like that at the moment. Fortunately, I predict I will start to look more like myself soon. I'm flattered that you think so highly of me. You're right, I did my best to look after my friends while we were being held, but I don't know if I would describe myself as the worst. Certainly very bad. 

I'll tell you the truth, Charlie. Neither do I. You don't need to be sorry, you didn't hurt anyone, but I appreciate the sentiment. So do all of my friends. I told lots of stories about you while we were being held. We all shared stories so we had something to talk about. I hope that was okay with you. 

I don't know when I'll be going back to Ballarat. I have to find Mei Lin and Lee first, then maybe. But I think that they would prefer that they stay in China. A lot of people in Ballarat wouldn't like them very much, they think that Chinese people are bad people simply for being Chinese, but I appreciate your offer to let Lee share your room, I'm sure she would enjoy it. 

You've probably been back a while when you get this, are you enjoying Ballarat West? I had a good time when I went there. Of course your grandfather is joking, I wouldn't let him send you away, don't you worry about that. I'm glad you haven't been fighting with the other boys. Most of them probably aren't worth your time if they want to make fun of where you come from. 

Thank you for the prayers, if anyone could make God listen it would be you. I am sure that it would be you. I wouldn't expect you to pray all the time, in fact, I wasn't expecting you to pray at all. I am sure any amount of prayers is enough. 

Thank you again for the letter, I keep it by my bedside and I read it every night before I go to bed. I'm not including a photo of myself, for obvious reasons. 

All my love, your father 

Lucien Blake. 

…

His father never changed, regardless of how many years passed between seeing him. Watching him work is as fascinating now as it was when he was a child watching his father pick gravel from his scraped knees and smoothing bandaids over the grazed skin. 

He was six the last time he saw his father. He's twenty seven now. It's been so long. Certainly, they kept in contact. Letters here and there, the occasional photo, but it wasn't like it was. It never would be. Now, with his grandfather gone, there was nothing holding Charlie to Ballarat, at least, he'd thought, and then his father waltzed right in. 

He'd not gone to the funeral much to everyone's disappointment because he couldn't deal with seeing him. He could barely deal with it now. But he will learn to. Charlie Davis-Blake is many things, but a quitter is not one. But that doesn't ready him for the warm arms around him when he enters the house. 

A loner by choice as much as by exclusion, Charlie was not ready. But at the same time, it felt like he'd been waiting his whole life for these arms. He pushed away, and stepped back, egar to do literally anything else. Blake had other ideas. He grabbed Charlie's face with both hands to look at him. He seemed to like what he see because he released Charlie and smiled at him as if they were old friends. Charlie felt like he'd been rendered dumb by the situation. Awkwardly, he grabbed his suitcase, and hurried into his room, unable to process, to think. 

Distantly, he can hear Jean comforting him.   
“He's just a bit stunned right now, Lucien. He's just lost his grandfather, and now his father is here..Give him time...”

Time? He doesn't need time. He needs a time machine to go back twenty years and hold on tighter, longer, pray more, beg louder, become an immovable object that not even Blake could move him, and they woulds still have what they had. 

He gazed around his room with warm eyes, feeling more comfortable, feeling at home. He loved this room, he'd loved it his whole life. It had been his nursery when he'd been a baby, and it was his bedroom when he came to stay and it was his room when he moved in. It's his room now and he's pleased that all of his things are right where he left them. 

His cars are still lined up along the mirror, his stuffed bear was still on the bed, his father's notes still in his bottom drawer. Sitting on his bed, he removed the little bundle from the bedside table. Three worn post cards emerge. Sent from the Prisoner of War camp, each small card held a message for them on it. The first one read:   
“I am fine and in good health. Give my love to Charlie, Lucien.' the other two were both pre printed, as became the norm closer to the end of the wars. On each one, he'd circled good heath, working for compensation and sent his best love to Charlie. He knew it was all lies now but at the time, these cards had been all he'd had of his father. Charlie remembers his grandfather talking to the Red Cross people during the war, and then watching him type twenty four capital letter words onto a sheet of carbon paper to be sent to the camp. He's kept the back sheet in his bottom drawer ever since. 

“ALL IS FINE AT HOME WE ARE SAFE NOTHING HEARD FROM FAMILY WORRIED ABOUT YOUR HEALTH HOPING FOR BEST OUTCOME LOVE DAD AND CHARLIE”

They'd spent hours going over it, trying to figure out if they could fit in one more word but decided it contained all the information Blake would want to know. Apparently he'd received it almost a year after they sent it. The Japanese had little time for those who surrendered, he'd heard. 

He feels like a bit of a fool, a while later, sitting here thinking about his father when he could easily go out and actually talk to him but that feels like he might as well be walking into a piece of neck high fishing wire. He slides the carbon paper back into his bottom drawer along with a few things his father sent him over the years, and lets out a deep breath. He needs to go out there and try and talk to him. He knows that for sure. 

But he ends up curled into a fetal position on his bed, knees drawn to his chin and arm curled around them, one up near his head, sniffling slightly, doing his best not to cry lest someone come to check on him for some reason. He eventually falls asleep, eyes resting on the note that was now leaning on his copy of Anne of Green Gables   
…

“You're Lucien Blake's boy, aren't you?” Perhaps that wasn't the best way to start his sentence, but Lawson can't take it back now he's noticed. The young constable nods his head slightly.   
“Yes.” he doesn't seem surprised or even offended, just, silently resigned. The Superintendent paused, and then adopted a softer tone at the man. 

He was sitting in Thomas's car, presumably having driven him to the crime scene. His hands were still firmly on the wheel, knuckles white with the tenseness of his grip. “Sorry. I was just wondering.'  
“I've been called worse.” He replied, turning to face him with pale blue eyes that if he didn't know better, might think that the man had compromised vision.   
“I bet you have.” An awkward pause passes between them. “I knew your father.”  
“I hear that a lot. “  
“He's a good man.”  
“I hear that a lot.”  
“Have you heard from him recently?” He was friends with Lucien, before the war, he wonders if they still are. Charlie gives him a look that seems to be swimming in uncertainty.  
“He's running a practice in China.” Charlie said, eyes seemingly remaining on him, before drifting off to his grandfather.   
“I heard he became a doctor.”  
“Family traditions.”Charlie replied, looking back to him. Lawson thinks that he looks like a dog that had just been scolded, with his big sad eyes.   
“You didn't follow his footsteps.”  
“Wasn't smart enough.”  
“I find that hard to believe.” Charlie gave him a slight smile.   
“I inherited my father's drive to help people, but my grandfather's love of the police.” Lawson gave him a smile back.   
“I assume your grandfather was disappointed.”  
“He wanted me to take over the family business. “ Lawson laughed softly.   
“I'd imagine he would.” Lawson said, Blake talked about it all the time, Charlie taking over the business. He talked about Charlie all the time. Charlie or Genevieve.”How long are you in town for?”  
“Till Saturday.”  
“Fancy a drink with me and the boys?” Charlie raised one carefully tended too eyebrow, before nodding.   
“Sure. When?   
“Give me three nights to solve this case.” Charlie kept looking at him, those milky pale eyes batheing over him, as if assessing his very core. He glances at his grandfather, giving notes to Danny. He looks back at Lawson and cracks a smile.   
“You might need some help with that.”   
…  
It's Charlie's birthday and he's sitting at the train station. He's fourteen, no longer a child, not yet a man. Train after train pulls up, people get off and head to their family, and Charlie just watches each happy reunion, pleased for those people, but never losing sight of his goal. 

His fourteenth birthday was important. He couldn't see his father missing it, he couldn't. He shouldn't. He'd not mentioned anything in his last letter, but Charlie was convinced that Blake was coming to pay him a surprise visit. 

He hadn't gotten his usual birthday phonecall yet so he assumed that it must be because Blake is coming to see him in person, there was no other way for it. Another train pulls up, people get off, people get on, no sign of his father. 

He has to be here, he just has to be. 

People come and go, the dawning lonlieness becomes a bigger shadow over his shoulder, the slow realization his dad wasn't coming, wasn't going to be here to share a beer with him, wasn't going to shake his hand, hug him, anything. Just a deep sadness within him. 

His mother didn't write him or call either. He hadn't been expecting it, but his heart sunk at the realization. He was unwanted. Child born out of wedlock to parents who didn't want him. Parents who never even married. Tears well up, but before they can fall a hand offers him a cloth. 

“Grandfather.” Charlie said, as the older man took a seat next to him on the train seat.   
“He'd've said something if he was coming.” The oldest Blake man reminded Charlie, who sniffled softly.   
“I just want him to come home.” He whispered.   
“I know. Me too.” He murmured, and put an arm around Charlie's shoulder.   
“Why would he even keep me if he can't be bothered to show up on my birthday? No one else wanted to keep me.”   
“That's not true. I want you.”  
“Not then.”  
“No, not then. But now.” Charlie wiped at his eyes and knew this was the closest he was ever going to come to being actually wanted by a member of his family. As much as it pained him he knew that he had no one else, nothing else. “I miss him too. He's your father. He's my son.” That was all it took to push Charlie over the edge, and start crying against Thomas's chest. Thomas put a hand on the back of his grandson's head and almost let himself cry as they sat there, crying for a man who they both knew wasn't coming home any time soon. 

“I miss him so much, which I know is stupid, because I haven't seen him since I was six so how would even know if I like him or miss him but I just...” He dissolves into tears again, and Thomas continues comforting him .  
“No, it's not stupid. You miss your dad. There's nothing stupid about that.” Charlie sniffled, and dabbed at his nose with the cloth, not moving out of the comforting grip. “There's nothing stupid about missing the people you love.”  
“Does it ever stop hurting?”  
“Well Genevieve died over twenty years ago and I still hurt when I think about her.” Charlie sniffed.   
“But it gets easier. You learn to get through it. You find something and you keep living. For me, I found you.” Charlie sniffled loudly, and gave his grandfather a funny look. “You're lucky. Lucien will come back for you some day. I'll never see him again.”  
“Don't say that.”  
“He never forgave me, for sending him away. I've never forgiven myself.” Charlie pressed himself that much closer. “I've never forgiven myself for not looking after you, when you were a baby, either.” He said, in a sad voice. “I was so upset with him that I just couldn't see what Genevieve would want me to do.” He murmured. “But I hope I've made her proud, looking after you. I know your life hasn't been ideal, but I just hope the years you've spent with me have been at least tolerable.”  
“I love you, Grandad.” He murmured, using the name he hasn't used since he was a child. “And I'm going to make you real proud some day.” He added, softly. “You and Grandmama.”Thomas smiled.   
“We're both proud of you for making it this far. “  
…

Dad- 

Apologies for the delay in letters, I've been very busy these last few months at the Police Academy. All is well so far, I'm the third in my class for all the theory, and fourth for the physical. Grandad tells me that he would rather I be a doctor but I don't think I'm cut out for that. 

I just thought I'd let you know what I've been up to, since we haven't spoken in a while. I don't really like Melbourne as much as Ballarat, but it's okay. I spoke with mother again recently, she was upset about something David said, but she still doesn't want me hanging around the house. I suppose you'll be worried about my living situation, but it's fine. I'm staying at a local boarding house until I can get a placement in Ballarat. 

Grandad's practice is going well, I think he made a good choice hiring Jean though, I can't say I envy her secretarial jobs at all. I'm more then happy to hand over those jobs to her. She also lets me help in the kitchen which is fun. Mrs Ryan always shooed me out of the kitchen, so I suppose that gives Jean a one up on her. 

How is your search for Lee and Mei Lin coming? Are there any new or exciting developments? I don't really understand why you have to stay in China when your man could send you letters in Ballarat. Speaking of Ballarat, I was wondering if you'd be able to come to my police academy graduation? You don't need to worry about paying for it, I've checked and I have enough in savings to pay for a boat trip back to Australia for you. It really would mean the world to me if you could come. 

Other then that, life goes on in Australia. I still miss you a lot. I've included a picture of my class with this letter. I'm the third from the left in the top row. Write back soon. 

Love. 

\- Charlie Davis-Blake. (Am considering becoming either just Davis or just Blake? Makes me sound more official.)

 

…

My Dearest Charlie.   
Congratulations on getting into the academy! I would also possibly preferred it if you'd taken on the family business, as it would be safer for you to be a doctor but I won't tell you what you can and can't be, that's up to you. I will be proud of you no matter what you decide to do. 

I'm glad you've found somewhere safe to live, even if I'm disappointed in your mother for not taking you in. Hopefully you can enjoy your time in the big city, even if you don't like it as much as Ballarat. I'm happy you like Mrs Beazley, she always sounds lovely when you write about her. 

The search is the same as it always was. Most leads have turned out to be duds, but I keep hoping that someday something will come up and turn out to be true. I worry about them often and I hope they are safe. You know that I have to stay in China until they're found so they can come home to a place that speaks the same as they do. They're family, Charlie. It's important to me that I'm here when they're found you know that I wouldn't leave you behind if you were missing, and I won't leave them. 

I considered what you said about coming to see you graduate, and I know that this may well be my last choice to come and see you graduate something, and I am aware that that I have missed most of the other important milestones in your life but there is particularly hopeful lead being looked at right now and I don't want to leave the search while it's on. I will be thinking about you on the day and with you in spirit. I'm deeply sorry and I implore you to understand. 

I miss you too, thank you for the photo, you look very smart in that uniform. I've included a photo of myself as well. 

All of my love 

Lucien Blake (I think that your name is fine.)

…

Jean is crying in the kitchen. That's odd for several reasons, but Charlie can't just leave her there in peace, regardless of how much he would want to be let alone if he were crying, so he goes to her. Sits opposite to her and offers a handkerchief. She takes it, and wipes at her eyes and nose, before looking to him. 

“I'm sorry Charlie. Did you need something?” Typical Jean response. Charlie is pretty good at reading her these days, now he's spent time with her.   
“No. Do you?” She shakes her head and dabs at her eyes. “Something's wrong.” he prods. Jean sighs, and puts her hands down on the table.   
“Your father brought me flowers.” She said, softly. Charlie glanced at the vase of roses on the counter and then looked back to Jean.   
“That was nice of him.”  
“I know it was. I just...” Charlie took the opportunity to put the kettle on. “I kept the last flowers Christoper ever gave me.” She admited. Wasn't often she talked about him. Charlie gave a slight frown. “I mean, just one petal, not a whole vase, but when he went away..I just wanted something he'd touched.” While the kettle heated, Charlie leaned on the counter top.   
“Can I tell you a secret?” Jean nodded, frowning slightly.   
“I still have the last bandaid Dad ever stuck on me.” Jean gave him a weird look. “I scraped my knees, that last year.” He said, in a soft voice, “I was running around on the driveway, because that's what children do, we were playing with some kind of ball, me and Dad, and he kicked it too far and I chased after it, and since I was six, I went head over heels onto the gravel.” He said, giving context. I swear I thought I was dying I bled so much.” He continued, “And after he was gone, and I was back in Melbourne, I peeled it off and stuck it in my best notepad.” He tapped his nails on the tables.   
“Oh. Uh.”  
“I know. It's disgusting, please, judge away. It's possibly the oldest most bloody bandaid in Ballarat, but I just can't throw it away, knowing it was the last time he ever gave me a bandaid.” Pause, then, “Trust me, you aren't even the weirdest person in the room right now.” He promised her. “So keeping a flower petal? Not that bad.” She sighed at him softly, and reached over to take his hands, ignoring the slow bil of the kettle.   
“Somehow, you always seem to be able to say something odd but comforting.” Jean sighed.   
“I got it from my father.” Charlie replied. A pause. “I guess the next most important question is how do you feel?”  
“I feel like I'm betraying Thomas and Christoper.”  
“Okay, your late husband I understand but grandad?” Charlie didn't see why his grandfather would give a shit about who Jean chose to date. If anything, he'd probably prefer Jean to Mei Lin.   
“He hurt you both, so badly, for so long, and he's sending me flowers.”  
“It's got nothing to do with me.” Charlie said, after a moment. “He can send flowers to whomever he pleases.”  
“But to me?”  
“Do you like him?”  
“I do.”  
“That's all I need. I'm sure Grandad isn't exactly turning in his grave.” Jean looked at him for another moment, her hands tightened on his, and stared at him, before the kettle whistled sharply behind him.   
“You need to speak with him.” She said, softly. “I promised your grandfather that I'd look after you.” She said. “I would never peruse anything with your father if you didn't think it was a good idea.” Charlie kept looking at her, and then he glanced at their hands, and back at her.   
“I want you to be happy.” He said, sadly. “And if he makes you happy...Then that's one of us.” She looks like she might cry, for a moment, before turning away to make tea. Charlie lets out a long, long breath that he hadn't even truly realized that he'd been holding on to. Jean and his father. His father and Jean. It seems right and wrong at the same time. Vaguely, he wishes he could discuss this with his grandmother.   
…

Charlie is so small, he thinks, watching the toddler attempt to stack the blocks on top of one another. His father was sitting nearby, reading the paper, occasionally looking over the top when Charlie made a loud noise, or knocked them down. It wasn't often that Charlie would just sit down and play. Usually he was trying to escape and wander around, look at things, touch things. But for a brief few moments it seems that the child was content to give his father a break.

But as soon as he settled, Charlie was up again, stumbling forward as fast as his tiny legs would carry him up to the couch, and demanding in his little voice   
“Up. Up!” And when Blake didn't react right away he continued with “Daddy up!” Leaning down and scooping him into his arms Blake smiled at Charlie who gave him a toothy smile back. Now he was where he wanted to be, Charlie pointed a finger at the book Blake was reading, clearly not knowing that the books his father read to him where different to the ones he himself read. “Boo-k.” he declared.   
“Yes.” Blake smiled, adjusting Charlie so he was sitting. “Book.”   
“Book.” Charlie continued, patting the palm of his hand against it, obviously meaning for Blake to read it out loud to him. At the moment, they are reading Emily of New Moon, a book that is far to complex for Charlie's small mind, but he enjoyed it, because he insisted that they read every night. It's a lot more modern then the books that he would usually read to Charlie, but Mrs Ryan's eldest daughter, age fifteen insisted that Charlie would like it. Charlie, being a toddler, barely able to walk, has no concept of story or any of the themes, like loneliness and orphanhood, but he seems to be enjoying it well enough at present. 

Charlie liked it well enough that he was demanding that Blake read to him right now from his police thriller. A story about a police constable who must solve a seemingly unsolvable murder on his own, he's not sure it's really appropriate for a toddler to be hearing, lest it scar him for life. His own father speaks up “Lucien's he's a baby, he doesn't understand or care about the content, read him the story.” he mumbles a curse under his breath. Charlie seemingly understands that Thomas is on his side, and hits the book again, this time changing tacticts.   
Daddy book!” He insisted, with no pause between the words, so it came out as 'daddybook' Blake let out a resigned sound, and pulled Charlie up to his chest, putting the book in his small lap.   
“There's no pictures.” He warned.   
“Pit-ures” Charlie repeated, not really processing the statement. Blake smiles at him, and paused to kiss his brown curls. 

Charlie looked a lot like his grandmother, all things considered. He shared Genevieve's thick brown curls and blue eyes, as well as his mouth and slightly cleft chin, and a nose that was all his own. He thinks, distantly, that Charlie's genepool was pretty good. His own genes were good, and while Jane's were dubious at times, they didn't have any family history of heart problems or diabetes. As long as he instilled kindness into Charlie during their short time together, he was certain that Charlie would come out of this whole mess a kind and smart young man. 

He continued reading, while Charlie sat silent, breathing as softly as a child is able, watching his finger as he read each word, before seemingly getting born and worming his way back onto the floor to go play with his painted wooden blocks. Even Thomas seems amused by the situation as Charlie promptly decided to see if he could fit a whole block into his mouth and Blake had to try and get him to stop. 

… 

Dear Dad- 

It's been a while since we last spoke, but I thought that you might like to hear what happening back in ye olde Australia. 

Jock Clement is a massive creep. He patted my hair and told me I looked like Grandmama. I threatened him with a knife. I don't know why he was so threatening all of a sudden. Grandad has since confiscated my knife. (That's such bullshit by the way. I'm twenty one. I should be allowed to carry my own damn knife) 

I've taken up lodgings in a new house in Melbourne since Mother still won't let me stay with her again. The family is very nice, a little dismissive and obviously I'm little more then the rent at the end of the month but I am hoping this will only be temporary and a place will open in Ballarat soon. Jean keeps sending me care packages because she thinks I don't eat enough. (I do) but I think it's very kind that she's thinking of me.   
Working for the Police is good. Apparently I'm in line to be fast tracked to detective 'school' at Bonehead. I don't know if that's what I want though. I mean, I love solving murders and the like but I don't know if I want to be a detective and never you know. Work the beat and stuff. Grandad says he's prefer I do something less dangerous because of course he does. 

Jean recently taught me the correct way to use a roaster. Cooking is fascinating stuff, maybe I should have become a chef? Grandad would approve of that, I think. Although I think he would complain about cooking oil or something equally insignificant. He worries too much. It can't be good for him. 

Any news on Mei Lin and Lee? Will you be coming home soon? I hope so. I can make you a roast and everything. Or maybe Jean can do it, because you've never tried her cooking and frankly it is delicious. 

All my love.  
Charlie Davis-Blake

…

My Dearest Charlie 

I'm always glad to hear from you, always. I do miss Australia at times, I'm lad you always keep me updated. 

Jock always upset me, even when I was little he always had his eyes on my mother. If I'd been there, I would have done a lot more then just threaten him. I would have stabbed him. I'd prefer if you didn't go near him again. Are you going to become a Mason? Your grandfather would probably appreciate it if at least one of us did. (I agree with him one hundred percent. No weapons in the house) 

Jean always sounds lovely, I'm glad she's treating you well. I'm sure your lodgers will warm up to you when they get to know you. If they dont then they have no idea about the man they're missing out on. I hope you remember to send a thank you message for those care packages. No child of mine is not going to remember to say thank you. 

I'm very proud of all you've been able to achieve in such a short time. I'm sure that you will be able to figure out what you want to do, since you're the only person who really know you. I would side with your grandfather here, I'd prefer that you took the safer path but that's never really been you, has it? 

Cooking is a very useful skill that I sadly have not been able to master it. You'd be the first male Blake to be any good at cooking if what I remember of my father's cooking is correct. Your grandfather cares that's why he worries. I worry too, you know, so don't think that you're talking to a neutral party here. 

There is no new news regarding Mei Lin and Lee. I will look into coming for a visit, I'm eager to try out some of your cooking, but I make no promises. 

Love, your father,   
Lucien Blake

…

“Where you kind to her?” Charlie looked at his father, sitting next to him on the couch. Blake looked back at him and blinked, clearly unaure what he was being asked and fair enough. It did come rather out of the blue. Charlie hasn't been talking to him for the whole time he's been back and this is what his opening line is? He could have done better, probably. “Lee, I mean. Where you kind to her?”  
“Of course I was, why?”  
“I was just wondering is all. I'm glad that one of us got your love.” Blake looked at him, offended he would say such a thing but Charlie doesn't care to take it back.   
“Charlie.” He says, sounding sad and even a little defeated. “I love you.” Pause. He considers his answer. He considers his father. He considers his grandfather. He considers everything that has happened to him in the last twenty seven years of his life and a tiny bitter smile crawls it's way onto his face.   
“I know. You just love them more.'  
“I do not.” He replies, in an instant. “Charlie, I love all my family members equally, I know that you're upset-”  
“I get it.” Charlie interrupts. “I get it, I really do. I'm your bastard child that you got shouldered with, your eternal shame, a smear on your reputation, I know that.” He said, pausing to take in the shocked and sad expression that Blake was wearing as if this was new to him, as if he truly hadn't considered it, and it makes him a tad angry. But he's waited over ten years to give his father a piece of his mind. Now he's not sure that he's strong enough to go through with it. “You chose them, you chose that child, that life. I understand.” A pause. The kicker. “But I just thought, that if anyone on this planet wanted me, then it would be you. I mean, you chose to keep me, when everyone else wanted to give me up.”  
“My father wasn't there for me, and I didn't want you to go through the same thing.”  
“Right. That would be why you pissed off to China, then.” He spat, angry again. His carefully constructed glass house of understanding shattering into a billion pieces all over the carpet. 

“Scotland I can understand. I get that you were already enrolled there and you came to see me and it was good!” I loved you so much!” He added, “And you went to war and I thought that was fine, you wanted to protect your country. Then you got captured and I thought, this is fine. It's not his fault, he'd see you if he could...Then you didn't come back.” He said, wiping a furious hand up to his eye. “You didn't come back.”  
“I had to look for them.” Blake said, softly.   
“You promised you'd come back.” Charlie said, his fingers drifting to stroke his chest. “You promised you'd come back!” Charlie repeated, louder this time. “You promised a six year old boy that you would come back and we would be a family!” There is a hollow silence. A growing quiet in which they are wrapped. “I would have thought, out of everyone, even by your own claim, that you would know what it feels like, to be abandoned by your father.”  
“I needed to find my family!” Blake yelled, his anger bubbled over, his hour glass of patience empty.   
“I am your family.” Charlie yelled, getting to his feet. “I am your family. I. Am. Your. Family!” He is forcing his hands to pat his chest, each smack leaving a reverberation echoing in his chest around his heart. All his hurt is dragged to the light, to the view. “I AM YOUR FUCKING FAMILY!” Yelling like this feels good, a little too good, even. “I belong to you! We have the same blood.” He tries to breathe but all the air that comes into his lungs tastes hot with anger, thick and foggy. Heavy.   
“They needed me!” He yells back, trying to yell back, bare his teeth, defend himself. But it doesn't send Charlie to beg for his forgiveness. It makes him madder. 

“I needed you! I needed you so badly!” He is still shouting, unable to stop, take a deep breath be calm like he might normally be in these situations. “My mother didn't love me, she will never love me. I tried to hard to be a good son and not complain about how I only saw you once a year. But I couldn't. How could I?” He demanded. “I was six, I was lonely, I wanted my dad.” He's crying now, tears thick like syrup and clinging to his eyelashes like rain. “I just wanted my dad.” He repeated. “I begged you. I begged you to come home. To see me graduate highschool. The police academy. Just come see me. Let me know you cared.”  
“I thought you understood.”  
“That I'm second best? Congratulations! You taught me something.”  
“That they needed me! I couldn't come back because my father-”  
“No! Don't you dare talk badly of him. Don't you dare, don't you dare Lucien Blake. Grandad was the only person in the world who wanted me, and acted on it. He acted on it. He took me into his home, raised me, he did what no one else wanted to because he wanted to. He loved me.” It comes out broken, twisted, like sand hit with lightning, stabbing his throat, his vocal chords. 

“He loved me.” Charlie repeated, at speaking volume. “And you? He loved you. We both loved you.” He said, and Blake looks at him, and he looks totally lost. “I loved him.” He said, before sinking to his knees, no longer filled by rage they couldn't hold him up. His knees hit the floor, and he began to cry earnestly. Then, there were arms around him, and a constant 'I love you' over and over and over and over. Charlie put his face into his father's chest and he cried. 

They sat there, together, until long after the sun had gone down because Charlie didn't want to let him go, in case he went back to China. Eventually, Blake's stomach rumbles. Charlie lets him go slowly, muscles aching, joints clicking. Blake looks at him. He looks back. “I'm sorry.” A long pause. So long.   
“I love you.” Charlie whispered, softly. “I love you.” Blake smiled at him. He gave a small smile back. It wasn't much. It couldn't be much, not yet. He wasn't ready yet. But soon. This relationship wasn't as broken as he thought it would be. He slowly got to his feet. “Would you like me to make you something to eat?”  
“I would.” Blake said, as if he too is scared to rock the boat and send them both back into that endless pit of anger and sadness that consumed them both. Anger is still there. Sadness is still there. But they will always be there. He doesn't have to let them rule.   
“I'll make some toasted sandwiches.” He whispered.   
“I'll make tea.” Blake said, after a moment. “How do you take it?”  
“White.” Charlie replied, slowly. “After we eat, do you want to finish Anne of Green Gables?” Long pause. An olive branch. A waiting hand.   
“I would love too.” Blake reveals, quietly. It is a gaping wound; but it will not bleed forever. 

…

“Charlie I want to show you something.” Thomas declared. Charlie stood, and frowned lightly. He held up a key with a red ribbon pulled through one end, tied off in a knot.   
“Okay.” He agreed, setting down his home economics text book and following him into the living room, and then through the living room to the forbidden doors. 

When he'd been a child, Charlie had never been too bothered by them. Just doors. He was too busy being with his father to care, but as he'd gotten older he'd found that he really did want to know what was beyond them. His grandmother's room. Her things. He wanted to know about her as a real person, not just as what his grandfather, as much as he loved him, thought her to be. Thomas put the key into the lock, and takes a shaky breath. 

“You don't have to.” Charlie said, in a soft voice, even though he was dying of curiosity. He wanted to know so very badly what was behind that door but it wasn't worth upsetting his grandfather over.   
“I know. I want to.” He said, “Or I'll never see it again.” Charlie watched the small hand of his grandfather, who was quickly becoming older and smaller and paler as it turned the key in the lock. The click of the tumblers in the lock. The twist of the handle. The smell of paint and mothballs. 

It was beautiful. Sculptures. Paintings. Easels. Brushes. He slowly followed his grandfather in, watching him look around like he was looking at a fairytale. “It's beautiful.” He murmured, looking at the organized chaos. Thomas nodded.   
“It is.” He agreed, removing the sheet from the canvas revealing the half painted lady to the world. He smiled, looking into the fireplace, at all the decorations, the artwork as if it were Genevieve herself. Charlie stood to the side and let him have these moments, these precious moments. Slowly, Charlie joins him.   
“How long since you last came in here?”  
“A lifetime.” He replied, “I thought I never would. It was meant to be her space, I thought it would feel like desecrating her memory.” A pause. “But it doesn't.” He took a seat on the couch, and Charlie sat next to him. “It feels like loving her all over again.” He murmured. They sat together for a long time, before Thomas spoke again. 

“She'd have loved you so much.” He told the teenager. “You would have raised Hell together, I'm sure of it.” Charlie gave a small, shaky laugh,   
“Really?”  
“There would be no doubt on Earth who's family you came from.” He replied. Charlie smiled. “I hope that I've been a suitable grandfather to you. I've tried my best but I worry that I might not have done enough.” he murmured. “I hope you've been happy.” Charlie grinned.   
“I've never been happier. I swear.” And for one beautiful minute, sitting there, in that studio, it was like Lucien Blake didn't matter. Just the three of them and this house. 

…

He remembers why he liked Jane, as she walked away. She was beautiful. But no other reasons had made themselves known to him. She was beautiful. But this bundle was even better. Looking down, he watched tiny hands reach for him, tiny eyes blink, tiny mouth moves, making unintelligible noises. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. 

Back at the house, he still can't believe it, as he lays the child in the crib, that she would give him over without a fight. He goes down without a fuss, but insists on holding onto Lucien's finger until he is asleep and his hand falls away of it's own accord. 

So beautiful, he thought, watching him sleep. He was filled with so much love that he may well be glowing and he doesn't regret not for one second not giving him up because he loves this child. And he will be a part of him, always. And he will always belong here, with him, forever. He never wants to leave the room to even let him sleep in peace 

…

“You kept it?” Charlie asks, amused. Blake is showing him a little pouch in which he keeps Charlie's first milk tooth that he lost.   
“I couldn't bare to throw a piece of you into the bin.” Charlie chuckled softly, and used a finger to turn the tooth over on his upturned palm.   
“Dad.” He said, very seriously. “That's disgusting. That was in my mouth.”  
“Why? You want to call dibs?” he asked. Things had been better now Charlie and his father were talking. Words had been said, apologies made, hugs shared. Their relationship would be saved yet.   
“No. It's gross.” Charlie replied, slipping it back into the bag.   
“Just wait until you have kids.” Blake replied, slipping the bag back into his dresser. “You'll keep their teeth as well.” Charlie rolled his eyes, but affectionately.  
“Well I keep old band aids, Jean keeps old flower petals and you keep my milk teeth. We're a trio of weird.”  
“I don't think flower petals is weird.”  
“A duo of weird.” Blake pulls him into a hug, like he can't believe he's real. This happens fairly often. Charlie always hugs back. A swirl of happiness bubbles up in his gut. He's released from the hug.   
“Just thought you might be interested.”   
“So thoughtful.” Charlie replied, thinking of how natural it was to stand here and talk like this. He grins. Blake grins back. “I love you, Dad.”  
“I love you too, Charlie.” A long pause. Distantly, the phone rings.   
“If that's Lawson, I've got dibs on driving.” Charlie informed him, as they both headed for the kitchen.


End file.
